I'm home
by Waiting-for-a-mad-man-in-221b
Summary: John and Sherlock seing each other for the first time after Reichenbach.


Retired Army Dr. John Watson sat in his chair in 221 B. Baker Street. He looks at the other chair that has been untouched for so long, it has a fine layer of dust covering it. No one has sat in that chair for three years, because no one but Sherlock Holmes was allowed to sit there. And Sherlock Holmes was dead.

He'd left everything the same on that side of the living room. His violin still sits on his chair, also covered in dust. The skull seems to stare at John from the mantle. Even Sherlock's clothes still hang in the closet in his room. The room's bed is made, and everything looks as Sherlock had left it.

Mrs. Hudson kept telling John that it would be good for him to give away Sherlock's 'stuff' as she referred to it. It would be therapeutic, for John, she'd say. But John couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. Because somewhere in his heart, he'd always think that Sherlock Holmes was going to come back for him one day.

John would often visit Sherlock's grave. He liked to pay his respects to his best friend, who saved him in more ways than one. He'd stand there and talk to him for a bit. Tell him how things were going. How much of a dick Lestrade was that day at work. How much he and Mrs. Hudson missed him.

John still worked with Lestrade sometimes at New Scotland Yard, but rarely. He also still works as a GP. He rarely falls asleep during work anymore, because he got a lot more sleep now that Sherlock wasn't dragging him out at all hours of the night. But with more sleep comes more nightmares.

He sees Sherlock fall. Over, and over, and over. He's had this nightmare almost every night. John still sees his therapist every now and then. But it's the same problems over and over, and there's only so much she can help him with. So most nights he sits home and tries to write for his blog. Every time he is too emotional to finish his work and discards the whole piece, and heads to bed, only to be greeted again by his nightmares.

Tonight John decides to go for a walk instead of trying to write. Which he does sometimes, just to switch things up. He says hi to Mrs. Hudson in the hall way and they stop and chat for a minute.

"Going for a walk John?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

"Yeah, I'm just going around the block. Need anything while I'm out?"

"No dear I'm fine. It's a good night for a walk though. Go get some fresh air."

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson. See you later."

John walked around the familiar block. The memories of the time spent with Sherlock came back to him very vividly. He looked down at his feet, trying to forget. Just trying to clear his mind of everything.

His shoulder smacks into something hard he looks up to see a man speeding away in the opposite direction. The man wearing a long navy blue trench coat, with the collar turned up… but it couldn't be. _I'm imagining things now. _John thinks to himself. _But what if it was him? _John decides not to take any chances.

"Sherlock!" John screams. The other man slows but does not stop, and then he goes back to an almost run. John starts to chase after him. _Am I crazy? I must be. _"Sherlock Holmes!" John screams again. _It's obviously not him. What am I thinking? I saw him die, right in front of me. Now I just look like an idiot. Well, I always look like an idiot when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. _As John is thinking the, the man comes to a stop. He slowly turns around. The first thing John notices is his dark curly hair. Then the cheekbones and the signature scarf. It's the world's only consulting detective.

"John… I'm… I didn't." Sherlock Holmes stumbles over his words. His face is contorted in to an expression that somehow conveys extreme guilt and utter happiness at the same time. "I didn't mean for you to find out this way… I wanted… I,"

"You bastard." John's whispers are like a punch to Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock knew that John was going to be mad, but he still wished he would be greeted him with open arms. Let right back into 221 B, to live their lives like they had before. The sociopath, and the ex Army doctor. Solving crimes together again. But Sherlock could tell from John's first scream of his name that that was not the case. That's why Sherlock had tried to flee. Because there is only one person he doesn't like to see upset and that's john.

"You absolute bastard. Three years. I've thought you were dead for three years." John huffed. "You could have sent me a clue or something. Anything."

"John. Listen to me I wanted to. Believe me, I wanted to the moment I woke up. But I couldn't, Moriarty was still watching from past the grave. I had to destroy his web before I could come home. I couldn't risk losing you."

"So I had to think you were dead for three years? Do you know how hard that was? Do you know how many times I went to your 'grave' to pray that you would come home one day?" As John says this he inches closer and closer to Sherlock Holmes. "I just… I missed you so much." John sighs and hangs his head. Ready for Sherlock's laughs. But instead of laughing Sherlock take John into a hug. John hugs back; no longer mad with Sherlock Holmes, because the feeling of relief has overwritten any anger in John Watson.

"I'm home now." Sherlock says into Johns ear. For the first time in three years John felt happy. Everything was the way it should be. John Watson had his best friend back. Everything would be fine.


End file.
